


Orlesian Tickler

by honeybee592



Series: OTP: You're the boss [7]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Orlesian Tickler, Sensation Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:09:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3245726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/honeybee592
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iron Bull introduces Grace Trevelyan to the wonders of the Orlesian Tickler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orlesian Tickler

**Author's Note:**

> There's no next day delivery in Thedas. Sad trombone.

Bull approached the requisition officer for the second time that day. The man smirked, like he had this morning. And yesterday. And every day since Bull’d sent off the raven. The guy wouldn’t know what he was having delivered, but he didn’t trust the fucker not to open the package. So he’d kept an eye on the deliveries coming into Skyhold. One had just come by.

“Got anything for the Iron Bull?” he asked.

The officer stroked his moustache, shifted his glance from side to side.

“Look. Do you have it or not?” Bull was not in the mood for games. Well, if his package had arrived, then he _would_ be in the mood for games, but not the kind he’d play with this greasy man.

Bull took a step forward, leant down, casting a wide shadow over the man. Nothing like a little bit of intimidation to get what you wanted. The man stepped back before passing the package over. Bull smiled ever so sweetly before walking away.

Back in the privacy of the bedroom he’d claimed above the tavern, he slid a knife under the strings and sliced the wrapping open. Hey, nice touch, providing a carved wooden box to keep the contents safe. Bull’s heart pounded as he flicked the latch and opened the lid.

“Oh, yes,” he said out loud.

A tickler. And not just any tickler. An _Orlesian_ tickler. Just like the Great Game, this tickler held a secret that only the person holding it knew. He lifted it from the box with the kind reverence reserved for chantry sisters praising the Maker. The handle felt cool between his fingers, heavy, too. Obsidian, polished smooth. The feathers were tightly bound at the tip, all pink and purple. Bull cooed. He’d been very specific in his colour request.

Carefully, he brushed the tips over his forearm. Tickling didn’t do anything for him, but the feathers still felt nice. Grace would love it. His cock twitched at the thought of running the tickler over her. But whether she’d appreciate the surprise, he wasn’t sure. He drew the feathers down his arm again, pressing harder until the pinpricks stung. Ah, this was more his style. They left three little scratches in their wake.

Bull examined the feathers, holding them apart to really look at the pins hidden within. As much as he’d love to drag this down Grace’s back, over her thighs, he knew she wouldn’t enjoy the sharpness of the pins. And _her_ enjoyment was what Bull lived for. He took a stone from his pocket and set to blunting them so they’d scratch instead of prick. Just sharp enough to give her a surprise, maybe make her yelp.

Once he was done, he tried again. They didn’t leave a mark this time, though they still might on Grace’s more delicate skin. Bull smiled, gave himself a quick stroke over his trousers and put the tickler back in its box. Time to find Grace.

*

Josephine directed Bull to Grace’s chambers, and there he found her, sitting out on her balcony in the sun, cat on her lap, reading a book. She waved him over and set her book down.

“I have something for you.” Bull leant in planting a kiss to her lips. He lingered, exploring her lips with his tongue. When he pulled back he saw he’d achieved the desired effect: Grace’s cheeks were flushed pink, pupils wide and black despite the afternoon sun. He took her hand, dislodged the cat, and led her inside.

Once they were on the bed, he opened the box. Grace sucked in a breath, reached out for the tickler but Bull stilled her hand.

“Allow me.” He picked it up and ran it over her outstretched palm, just enough to have her giggling, ensuring that the pins remained hidden.

“Shall we try it now?” Grace asked, all wide eyed and blushing.

How could Bull deny such a pretty face? Of course they would try it now. The butterflies in his chest definitely wanted him to try it.

Grace jumped off the bed and started stripping.

“Hey, hey, slow down.” Bull closed his hand around her wrist and pulled her in so she stood between his legs. “There’s no need to hurry. We’ve got all the time in the world. Just you, and me.” To slow her down, get her calm, he pressed her hands to his shoulders, told her to keep them there. She scrunched her face up for a moment, frustrated, but she knew the wait would be worth it.

He continued undressing her, brushing his knuckles against her tits and thighs as he pulled her clothes out of the way. Her breathing slowed until her chest rose and fell in into a long, steady beat. Once she was as naked as she could be with her hands still on his shoulders, he stood, letting her arms fall, and her shirt. She stepped out from the pile of clothes on the floor and climbed up onto the bed.

By the time he’d undressed and joined her, Bull was half hard and giddy with anticipation. She didn’t know what he had planned for her. She thought she did, and she was mostly correct, but a little surprise every now and then wouldn’t hurt. Not much, anyway. He considered allowing her to just hold onto his horns, her back pressed against his chest. While she could usually resist the temptation to let go, he thought it best that he have her completely at his mercy. He grabbed the leather cuffs from their box of tricks and told her to get comfortable.

She knelt up, slipped her legs between his, her calves pinned under his shins. She wiggled her ass against his cock and he growled in her ear. But he wouldn’t let such a base move affect him. Once he’d slipped the cuffs over each horn, he lifted one of her arms, running his hands from pit to palm before buckling her wrist in place. He repeated the move on the other side then waited for her head fall back against his neck. His cock twitched as he looked down at the body before him. Her tits, right there, just waiting for him to drag his thumbs over her nipples. And further down, her stomach pulled taut, muscles tight. They’d ripple soon enough as he dragged the feathers over her belly. He could see her thatch of curls, knew she’d already be damp. He inhaled deep through his nose, dragging her scent into him. Her thighs pressed against his, strong and firm. And now she was his. A canvas to paint over with feathers and fingers.

“Do you like the colours?” he asked, holding the tickler up, twisting it between his thumb and finger. Light bounced off the obsidian handle, the pink and purple feathers blurring together.

“Yes.” Grace sighed.

“Shall I start here?” Bull flicked the tips against her thigh. “Or here.” Her inner arm. He wasn’t looking for a real answer; the way she trembled against him was answer enough, the affirmations slipping out from between her lips.

He could make her groan when he tickled her thighs and breasts, had her giggling, laughing, gasping as he ran the feathers ran up and down her sides. Getting that reaction from her when she was free to wriggle against him, not having to worry about elbows or knees to soft places, that was Bull’s favourite. Hearing her laugh set Bull’s heart on fire.

Once the feathering had left Grace panting and over stimulated, Bull set the tickler down, ran his hands firmly over every inch of her he could, reveling in the deep moans, the slow grind against his cock and torso. And once she’d melted against him, relaxed and dopey, he took to exploring her body with his fingertips. He couldn’t lick her tits from this angle, but no matter. Her cunt was slick enough so after nudging her legs wider and slipping his fingers between her folds, he rolled her nipples between his fingers, getting them wet and achingly hard.

She’d become incoherent, left teetering on the edge by Bull’s fingers and whispers. Her hiccup moans told him she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He would make her do both at the same time.

He picked up the tickler for the second time, painting slowly over her belly, letting her get used to the sensation again. He repeated the action, firmer this time, so the pins would scratch. He felt the resistance as they met her skin. She shuddered, twisted in his hold, a strangled yelp escaping. He felt it vibrate up her throat.

“Bull, it’s got… got…” She didn’t get to finish the thought, shaking as the feathers and pins tickled over her hips and down to her inner thighs. Her back stuck to his chest, sweaty and clammy but Bull didn’t care. He relished her little cries.

“Do you like it?” he growled.

Her cheek gazed his as she fought for an answer. He didn’t make it easy for her to think, drawing the feathers and pins in slow circles over her skin.

“Maybe… no. It’s too much and not enough.” She whined. “Don’t ever stop.”

Bull smiled. He’d have to stop, eventually. Not yet though. He went over her body, higher this time. He kept one hand over her cunt, his little finger nestled within, feeling her contract with every jerk. He began a slow thrust, working her with his finger. From behind, his cock rubbed against her back.

Once he had her panting, squirming, groaning in his ear, he parted her lips, finger still pressed inside. Now to undo her in the most delicate way possible. He twirled the feathers over her bud as lightly as he could, a mere whisper. Grace gave a choked cry, calling Bull’s name over and over. She tried to press back, away from the feathers but he canted his hips forward, his cock leaking against the small of her back. He murmured encouragement, told her she looked beautiful, felt beautiful.

“I’ll catch you when you fall.” His stubble grazed her cheek. “Let go, Grace. I’m here.”

She shuddered all over. Her moan echoed in his ears, vibrated against his neck. Bull raised his head slightly, drawing her back, stabilising them both as he continued to twirl the feathers over her bud. He didn’t stop until her moans developed a jag at the end, threatening to turn into sobs. Finally, he slipped his finger out of her cunt, set the ticker down and pressed his hands to her thighs.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, kadan.”

Even from this angle, he could tell her eyes were squeezed shut. He felt her toes flex under him, held her tight, shifting his hands to press against her belly, her sides, firm, solid. Once the aftershocks had settled, he carefully unbuckled one wrist, then the other, kissing each one in turn. As they peeled away from each other, she shivered, whimpered, twitched as he stroked her sweat slick back.

“Cold,” she said. “And too tickly.”

Bull reached out to touch her again but stopped in time, realising that her skin was too sensitive. He passed her a glass of water, told her to drink while he dug around for a nightdress. Despite the sun still hanging high in the sky, the day was over for Grace. She wouldn’t leave her chambers again until morning.

As he slipped the dress over her head and shoulders, he ran his hands down her arms and sides, over her belly and thighs, good and firm, desensitising her from the thorough tickling she’d received. He shuffled back, resting against the headboard and Grace relaxed against his chest. Her breathing slowed, hands resting in her lap with his arms around her. A cat jumped up on the bed, marched over to Grace and flopped on her lap, purring. Their hands met as they went to stroke it. Bull smiled. How had he ever ended up so content? He hadn’t thought he’d be one for post-coital snuggles. Too intimate, too foreign. Once his usual lot of women and men had taken their fill, he’d subtly direct them back into their clothes and towards the exit. But with Grace he’d developed an appreciation for the quiet, lazy afterglow. He could take his time to memorise her features, inhale their sex, bask in his pride of a job well done while she sighed and thanked him.

Grace leant forward and picked up the tickler, twisting it in her fingers, holding it out of reach of the cat. It didn’t look nearly so threatening in her hands.

“Shall we keep it?” he asked, like she held a new-found kitten in her hands instead of a pink and purple feathered tickler.

“Yes. Most definitely.” She tilted her head up to kiss him, then looked back, running the feathers over her fingertips, dragging the pins over the pads.

“Does it have a name?” she asked.

Bull smiled. “Oh yes. This, Grace, is the Orlesian Tickler.”

Grace snorted. “Of course it is. Bloody Orlesians.”

Bull smiled, his face buried in her hair. Orlesians indeed.


End file.
